


The Family Reunion of Annatar

by an_evasive_author



Series: EggVerse [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_evasive_author/pseuds/an_evasive_author
Summary: The days of never changing routine are a thing of the past. Now every circling of moon and sun bring new adventures, new memories and new grey hairs to Celebrimbor. But even Annatar is not unaffected by the changes their newly hatched child brings with him.That includes the family that wish to meet the new arrival.





	1. Alloy

Maiar did in fact, contrary to belief, dream. They did not _sleep_ necessarily, there was no need when simply existing rejuvenated them. Elves where rather similar in that regard, they could forego sleep for weeks on end without suffering consequences. Even longer when they meditated throughout.

 

Humans however... Well, in Annatar's opinion it was a miracle that they still existed, in such numbers too, when one considered how much they missed all the time by the sheer virtue of collapsing when left awake too long. Sometimes Annatar wondered just what Eru had exactly thought by making mankind. Making them so mortal, so fragile... But his was not to reason why.

 

Celebrimbor murmured in his sleep, brow furrowed and no doubt dreaming up new, dazzling works of art. It would have been easy to take a little peak into Celebrimbor's dreams. Bonded pairs could do it easily. And with one of them being a Maia, it was even easier. But it was always so much more _exciting_ to see the finished piece; The works made in the reality of dreams, free of constraints and rules on both taste and the laws of the waking world, made for interesting pieces, yet they where never the same and Annatar found it wrong to spy on such an intimate process.

 

Instead Annatar slipped into another dream. One equally as dear yet far less complex. It was like stepping through mist, wandering through fog. He was very much still aware of the room in which his hroa lay, of Celebrimbor in his arms and the smell of lavender coming from the washed sheets.

 

But another part of him, just as aware as the other, found himself in his infant son's dream. A baby, even one who was of Maiarian descend, did not have the same understanding of the world. There was no place for abstract concepts and clear pictures. Instead all was filled with soft shapes in cottony colours, the sound of Celebrimbor's heartbeat and the smell of Annatar's soap. Erthornil had no thoughts to work through, no ideas to process. Instead his moods largely consisted of happy and upset, his mind was filled with half-shaped ideas such as 'blue', 'pretty' and lately even 'apple'.

 

It was very peaceful and Annatar found himself smiling when he looked down at himself. Wandering in a dream changed the visitor, at least in part, to what the dreamer wished. In this case Erthornil had coloured his father in equal pastel colours. His hair had been changed from gold to warm cream, his clothing to sky blue. He also felt rather fuzzy, inside and out. As if he was made from cotton.

 

He allowed himself to adjust the blanket Celebrimbor seemed adamant to kick away, pulled his husband closer and turned back as this soft stuffy form his son had dreamed up for him. There where still hours until Celebrimbor would get up, until Erthornil would demand attention in the waking world.

 

Annatar decided to enjoy himself, wandering the squishy world that felt warm and soft. Like the tiny crib, stuffed with down and cotton, in which their darling boy rested.

 

Certain that there was, safe for the half-aware consciousness of his son, no one watching him, Annatar giggled and twirled around. He watched the blue fabric dance around him in a soft cloud. Then, he skipped along the bedded ground to see more of the wonders Erthornil had created.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Celebrimbor awoke and fumbled, half-asleep, for a pen and the paper he had always on his night stand. Hurrying to catch the last remnants of his dream, he sketched out the idea before it turned to mist and accepted a kiss from Annatar without turning his gaze from the cream-coloured paper. Only when he was satisfied that he had gotten the most important details down, did he smile and return the gesture. “My dear,” Celebrimbor said and folded the sketch once, then twice and opened the drawer to deposit it on an ever growing pile of alike papers. “What has you in such a good mood this early in the morning?”

 

Annatar indeed hummed a simple melody and smiled brightly at Celebrimbor, “I was thinking I should perhaps add to my wardrobe.”

 

Celebrimbor, groggy and far too comfortable between warm sheets and Annatar's hand that rested on his chest, blinked, yawned and finally smiled, “Oh? With what?”  
  
“Why, pastel, my darling!” Annatar said and laughed brightly at Celebrimbor's confused look.

 

* * *

 

 

The company announced himself before the servants ever could. The sound of tiny, though heavy stomps echoed through the open door, carried by the stone corridors that led to the open dining chamber.

 

Erthornil burst through the door frame, making his waddling way over to his fathers in drunken, zigzagging lines. He reached Celebrimbor first and barrelled into his legs, just tall enough to look over Celebrimbor's knees. “Ba!”

 

“Close enough,” Celebrimbor laughed and scooped the child into his lap, enfolding him between his arms. He ran long fingers through the child's dark hair, the first inches of true hair peaking through the infant fuzz that covered Erthornil's head. It was strange, he supposed as he kissed his son on the head, feeling the warmth of the tiny body. Though the child could walk, something he had been doing only weeks after his hatching, there was still no sign of him having the ability to speak nor truly understand his parents. It did not matter; The developmental stages for a little half-maia where certainly different from little elves.

 

For example, Erthornil had a full set of teeth, yet could not roll over when he was on his back. He could walk, yet only ever trailed behind his parents and never ventured much out. Neither the physicians nor Annatar where of much help in determining what was normal and what was not. They could only offer theories, in Annatar's case anecdotes, and helpless shrugs.

 

There where many things that did not match the many books on childcare, the first, of course had been the very egg from which their little prince had come from. The shells, still glowing red in the firelight, where displayed on a pillow, protected by a dome of glass, now that Annatar did not polish them everyday anymore.

 

Erthornil made little cooing noises and Celebrimbor saw the cause. Annatar had begun to peel an apple and the child, lately fascinated with apples, waved little hands towards him, begging for the treat. “Very well,” Celebrimbor said and handed the child over before he turned back to his own breakfast.

 

Annatar received him eagerly, sat him into his own lap and fed him tiny apple cubes. “You ran away from your nanny again, didn't you my clever little rapscallion? You will give poor Teliadis grey hairs.”  
  
“She would not be the only one,” Celebrimbor muttered between bites of thickly cut bacon. Celebrimbor was rather fond of hearty breakfasts, with buttered bread and cheese and eggs and all things satisfying. Also black coffee, bitter, no milk nor sugar. A dwarven breakfast, the nobles where quick to inform him.

 

“Hush, silver looks good with black,” Annatar said smirking and watched Erthornil chew methodically.

 


	2. Pictures

It looked like a potato, a very lumpy one with two spots and a red line bend into a smile. Two yellow, noodley lines, one one each side and four sticks, branches really, with even tinier lines around it.

 

There was another potato, though the lines where dark brown. Some scribbles had been scrawled messily all over the paper. Perhaps the artist had halfway through forgotten what he had been doing. A few spots where something edible had crumbled onto and dried into the paper seemed to lend credence to this theory. Lunch was, after all, a long time between drawing sessions and so who could blame Erthornil for changing his mind in the middle?

 

All in all, it was a masterpiece. Of that there was no doubt.

 

“My talented dear!” called Annatar when Teliadis had once more returned Erthornil to them. It had been a long day, a truly horrible day where time, though a lofty concept to Elves and Maiar, seemed never-ending. But to return home, to their little family where no nobles curried favours and disputes had to be settled, that made it all seem so far away.

 

With the child, she had brought a stack of paper, all pictures their tiny son had made during the hours his fathers had been gone. “Look, oh Tyelpe, will you simply look at this?” Annatar said

 

It seemed like only yesterday that Erthornil had presented them with artful swirls and loops and ribbons, though spidery and not very elegant, they had been the most perfect pictures there ever had been. Celebrimbor and Annatar had spent long evenings marvelling at the colourful squiggles while Erthornil gurgled and hummed between them.

 

“An artist, no doubt. Quite the likeness, I have to say,” Celebrimbor agreed fondly and traced one of the brown lines with his fingers.

 

* * *

 

With the _Dawn of the Cephalopods_ , as the servants called it in hushed whispers, there came an increasing reluctance to come across the king or his consort.

 

When you where unlucky, perhaps you had made that crucial bit of split-moment eye contact with one of the rulers. Perhaps you had managed to catch the wrong hallway through which one of them had prowled. Because they _prowled._ There was prey to be had and even though it was not for sustenance, plenty of poor, unsuspecting elves where caught in the merciless hunt of the royals.

 

Whatever the reason, the outcome for these poor souls was very much the same. They would get herded in, deaf to the myriad of excuses, for there was no good reason they could not step into the royal chambers and take a look, now was there? Just a little while, surely the work could wait? One did not argue with a king. Once the door frame had been crossed, the door half closed, there was no hope for escape.

 

Then there would be paper from the Stack. The dreaded _Stack_ which grew seemingly everyday. From the Stack came the Pictures and this was where the End truly began. For there where scribbles and half-formed shapes on these papers and Eru have mercy if you could not decipher the amorphous blobs. Because if you could not see the cat in this picture, there where more. There where _always_ more. Lucky coincidence was more often then not on the side of these fools who had not gotten away in time. You simply had to get one of them right sometimes. Though usually there would have been a few dozen iterations of blue, red or brown squiggles of the endless barrage cycled through already.

 

The earliest ones, it seemed, where largely up to interpretation, for not even Celebrimbor and Annatar where _entirely_ sure what was shown on them. Not that they minded. The servants began coaching one another, developing little strategies to escape their fate just a tiny bit faster. The child had begun to develop an obvious fondness for blue and dogs and so this knowledge began circling through the corridors until _everyone_ in the entire kingdom knew this fact. Chickens came next. Brown and yellow usually. It became easier when Erthornil began to add tiny blobs of red to their heads.

 

Every servant and noble sighed a collective breathe of relief when the tiny crown prince began to develop a little more dexterity and finesse.

 

The blobs became loaf-shaped dogs in blue and green with an equally blue tongue and a fawned out, rigid tail. Arien, yellow and orange, was often found in the general proximity to the top of the page. There where birds sitting on branches, just as tall as the bulbous plants themselves.

 

It seemed as if the worst had passed and slowly, tentatively, they allowed themselves to relax. Oh, the fools. For it had only just begun.

 

* * *

 

 

Erthornil, who had set aside his tools for the evening and partook in a round of blocks with Celebrimbor, gurgled and furrowed his brow before pushing over the majestic castle his father had build.

 

Celebrimbor laughed and once more began to stack the wooden blocks. None of them had a sharp corner, every edge had been sanded off, the surface smoothed so no splinter would ever harm their little prince. Celebrimbor had seen to that.

 

Proud spires, mighty walls and a large courtyard took shape and where brought down again. Erthornil never tired of this wanton destruction and who was Celebrimbor to deny him this joy?

 

Annatar meanwhile busied himself with going through the latest stack of drawings. The Maia hummed, utterly blissful. He had trouble deciding which one he liked the very best, for all where his favourites and he could not choose a single one. Many of them had found their places on the drawer and the wardrobe, the walls where decorated with pictures of cows and horses with three lines for tails.

 

It was then, after he had looked up to see another defenceless castle fall, golden eyes twinkling mirthfully, that his gaze found it.

 

Beneath a few depictions of birds, flowers and a fish without fins, there peaked out a bit of green. He pulled it out and saw three figures on a lawn. A tiny one, flanked by two big ones, with arms stretched high to grasp their hands. All three where smiling, standing between flowers and a tree. Annatar keened as he felt something in his chest melt.

 

“Tyelpe, dear! _Look_!” Annatar called.

 

Celebrimbor turned his head, though his nose was still caught between a tiny fist. “ _Hmm_?” he asked and it came out rather muffled, though that came from his pinched nostrils.

 

Annatar stood up and once they had both admired the picture, he smiled. “I think I shall show it around. This masterpiece needs a properly sized audience."

 

The guards posted around the entry to the private chambers where the first victims of this fresh torment.

 


	3. Wine

Annatar blinked. The first time in quite some time. He had stared into the blaze that was the fireplace, thinking. Celebrimbor, resting his back against Annatar's, scribbled something onto a long parchment scroll, chewing at the end of his quill from time to time. Because of that, the elf did not notice Annatar's mood steadily declining. The glass of wine he held was untouched, he merely swirled it around slowly, deliberately. There was no answer waiting for him at the bottom.

 

A lustre. Five years. So little time left... And then... “ _Word has spread of the birth of another Maia. Our master Aul_ _ë_ _has sent to announce his visit in a lustre.”_

 

“Uuuugh...” Annatar groaned and Celebrimbor whipped his head around at the unfamiliar sound. His ears twitched, angled forward. The end of the abused ink quill, the upper part of the hollow feather all chewed up, was set aside as Celebrimbor turned around fully.

 

“What's wrong, my dear?” Celebrimbor asked, startled.

 

Erthornil, meanwhile, was practising his turning skills, yet presently he was busy flailing around arms and legs as he was laying on the sheep pelt like an upturned bug. He was not frustrated just yet, they both knew the signs by now. Instead there was still determination, vocalised through little grunts and blowing raspberries.

 

“Thinking...” Annatar replied and continued to stare into the flames. He smoothed the crease of his brow and yet he found himself unable to keep it so. He frowned.

 

“About?” asked Celebrimbor and ran his thumb over the nape of Annatar's neck before he kissed the back of the Maia's head.

 

“This wine tastes like leather,” Annatar murmured and held out his glass as if to show Celebrimbor just which wine he meant. “If I wanted to eat a shoe I would have saved myself the trouble from fetching a bottle from the cellars,” Annatar complained half-heartedly.

 

Celebrimbor smiled and once he had taken a moment to turn a now squalling Erthornil onto his side so the child could roll over, returned his attention to Annatar. “It is not just the wine now, is it? You are usually far more creative in judging wine you do not enjoy? Tell me?”

 

For a moment, Annatar remained silent. Then, unable to keep his stormy mood and his sullen frown, he sighed and grimaced something close to a smile. “There is simply no fooling you, is there? Oh my dear, it would bore you.”  
  
“Darling, there are few things that bore me,” Celebrimbor said. “One of them,” he said and nudged the scroll he had been writing in, “Is paperwork. So really, you are doing me a favour, giving me a reason to do something else.”

 

Conceding, Annatar leaned into Celebrimbor and abandoned his wine. “These last few years passed far too quickly. And yet I cannot help but feel Aulë's visit looming over me. Like a sunrise, I know he is there, just over the horizon, that he is coming and I dread it.”

 

There was silence, safe for the toddling footsteps behind them as their son made a break for the blocks. Celebrimbor watched him, then turned. “I—do not understand why you are so against it.” Celebrimbor said and Annatar saw him contemplate an explanation. It was not a happy one.

 

“He is not cruel, is he? That is not why you are worried, I hope?” Celebrimbor asked and pressed his ears back. Oh, how Annatar hated seeing him so. But was it not a just worry to have? What would they do in the presence of a Valar? Other than to grovel? Because Celebrimbor, bless his heart, was little more than an ant to Aulë and his kin. Annatar was perhaps something closer to a _bee_. Slightly more annoying.

 

Yet this was not the reason and Annatar struggled to find the kindest words, treading carefully. “It is not... He is-- Let me say the dwarves have a reason that they behave they way they do.” Because how better to make an entire race by modelling them after oneself? As if the world had ever needed more than one Aulë

 

It was nearly impossible to impart on someone who had never met him the magnitude that was Aulë. One could tell you about a storm and yet you would never quite realize the scope until you where caught in one.

 

Once more, carefully, “Dear,”Celebrimbor asked, “Do we have anything to fear? Would this--” The words came out noticeably meeker and it was Annatar's turn to turn his head at the quiet sound, “Would this end with the two of you going back? Because somehow I cannot help feeling that your reluctance to meet him has something to do with it.”

 

“ _No_.” Annatar called, louder than perhaps intended, “Absolutely not,” he continued quieter. “There—I have my reasons, but none of that will happen, do not worry. It it personal history and I am...not quite certain I can impose on you how much it bothers me without sounding crazy...”

 

“Very well then, I trust you. If it is as you say, I shall see it once it happens.” Celebrimbor said and laughed when Annatar rolled his eyes

 

Erthornil sat down in a huff and yawned. It sounded like a tiny chirp and it was enough to put all attention onto him. Sometimes Annatar was mortified at the fact that such a tiny creature had taken up so much space in his heart. Celebrimbor had already taken half of it, after all.

 

Annatar scooped him up, smiling fondly. “It is bedtime for this one, I should say.”  
  
Celebrimbor nodded and stretched, yawning as well. His was not as chirpy nor as high, but Annatar kissed him all the same. Celebrimbor smiled, “Not just for him.”

 

* * *

 

 

The crib had been made by Celebrimbor. The pieces of oak had been sanded so perfectly, the seams where invisible. Days had been spend making it, the gleaming finish achieved by having polished every inch for hours with fine beeswax.

 

Annatar had not interfered. Had in fact not even participated in building it. His part had been to paint the walls of the nursery.

 

Erthornil slept in the cradle of wide, sweeping plains. Between green forests and jagged mountains. A whole world had taken shape in the nursery, where the tiny prince lived. Fluffy clouds, almost lifelike, filled the painted sky. Deer, horses and bunnies, so detailed that Celebrimbor thought it possible for them to leap into the bedroom, filled the spaces.

 

The child was very nearly asleep, they managed to brush his teeth and change him into his sleeping clothes. The clothing proved to be the challenging part, for Erthornil had the habit to grip tight into any fabric he could reach, sometimes hair, he was not picky, and not let go.

 

Annatar looked down at his son who held onto him like a squirrel to its tree while Celebrimbor carefully pried one finger after the other off. Erthornil had complained for a bit, squalling and screeching until he had started to nod off. His head had started to droop, with every repetition it took a little longer to jerk it back up. Golden eyes drooped, lips went slack and finally Celebrimbor managed to pull him off.

 

“There we are,” Annatar said and fetched the tiny blanket while Celebrimbor put their son to bed.

 

They watched their child sleep for a while, hands interwoven with each others and heads leaned together. There was a bit of fitful gurgling and kicking until they hushed him and smoothed his sleep over.

 

Only then did Annatar saunter off towards the door, worries forgotten and a light tease on his lips. He turned to Celebrimbor only to find the spot beside him empty. 

 

_“_ Dear? Are you coming?” Annatar asked when Celebrimbor lingered at the crib, head slightly bowed and eyebrows drawn close together. When Annatar made to speak once more, Celebrimbor reached out a hand and carefully spun the mobile above the bed. Then he turned and joined his husband. “Is something the matter?”  
  
“No,” Celebrimbor said and when he reached Annatar, he gripped him in a tight hug. For a moment, neither spoke and when he let go again, Celebrimbor laughed. “To bed?”

 


	4. Sunset

On the day Aulë visited, the air was shimmering. It had been a rather hot summer, dry and only occasionally broken up by thunderstorms during nights where the air seemed to be a solid thing. During these nights, Erthornil had more than once sought them out, somehow having escaped his tiny crib. Yet he appeared not upset but rather excited. Perhaps he liked the storms and wanted to share this delight with his parents.

 

And so they had dragged a few pillows close to the balcony, where no rain would soak them, and watch. Erthornil had not yet the words to voice his amazement but the awed gasps where enough to convey his amazement.

 

But the days where generally dry and hot. Enough to warrant rolled up sleeves, or no sleeves at all when in the privacy of the smith or their chambers. Not that Celebrimbor minded the temperatures, it was simply nice to be a little less formal, a little less scrutinized.

 

Impromptu celebrations where found in the early evenings, when the heat had been great and there was wine rolled from cold cellars. Instruments would be pitched and voices raised. There was always a reason to celebrate something and music, food and wine simply went along. Sometimes the fact that there was wine was reason enough to celebrate and so the circle continued through the summer.

 

The royals where often found somewhere in close proximity of one of these affairs. There where many toasts to be had, after all. Annatar especially enjoyed himself greatly.

 

But on this day, Annatar had apparently decided to leave the gatherings unattended and poor Celebrimbor alone to his work. And so, when he had finally been able to call it a day, he returned to their chambers just as the light outside burned a deep orange. Yet there, at the very far end of the horizon, though still seemingly far away, another storm brewed. Though he was not well-versed in weather forecasting, Celebrimbor supposed it would reach them during the night all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

The nursery was empty. So was the bedroom at first sight. Yet the trail of clothing towards the wide open balcony gave him a very clear idea where Annatar might have retreated to. Perhaps his two dears had decided to soak up more of the heat before the storm could soak them.

 

Celebrimbor began to shed his own clothing, until the only clothing he wore was the pair of leggings and a light tunic. He had almost stepped unto the wide balcony, his hand resting on the door frame, when a peculiar sound reached him.

 

For a moment Celebrimbor thought it to be thunder. Yet he knew better. Purring. Annatar had begun to purr. It was not something Annatar did often, though Celebrimbor very much liked whenever his Maia forgot himself. When Annatar noticed him, the purrs came to a grinding halt and he cleared his throat. For a moment, Annatar looked rather sheepish until Celebrimbor laughed.

 

Both Annatar and Erthornil where resting on the red diwan, just where the sun warmed them best. The child had been turned away from the light as to not hurt his eyes, though Annatar looked into the sun without even blinking. Erthornil made kneading motions with his hands, flexing and relaxing and pushing into the resistance that was his father's stomach to express his sunbathing bliss. He, as well, purred.

 

“Who encroaches on our lair?” sang Annatar and giggled when Celebrimbor quirked an eyebrow.

 

His circlet of state was carelessly thrown onto one of the tables, joined by the very last of his jewels and Celebrimbor allowed himself to slump before kissing Annatar on the cheek. “Can a sun-flooded balcony truly be called a lair, my darling?”   
  
Humming, Annatar shrugged with one shoulder, “Whyever not? Tyelpe, be a little more creative. What would I need a dank and dark cellar or, stars forbid, a cave? Would you have me in a desolate fortress as well? For shame, Tyelpe. What would I even do there? Count the tiles?”  
  
“Perhaps store your wine?” Asked Celebrimbor and was already out of ideas what else to do. He did enjoy Annatar more here, on the diwan and fell next to him onto the plush furniture, “He is very grabby today, is he not? he asked and watched Erthornil continue his kneading undisturbed.

  
Annatar smirked and eyed Celebrimbor from the side, “Aye,” he laughed and motioned towards the fingers combing through his hair. “He is not the only one.”

 

“I simply must busy my hands. When last did we create something in the forge?”  
  
“Too long,” Annatar said wistfully. “We could see if one of your sketches is any good. I do like a challenge.”

 

Erthornil kneaded with ceaseless vigour, gurgled quietly to himself and kicked a tiny foot. Gathered in Annatar's arms, he looked like a tiny black kitten and Celebrimbor's chest ached at the sight .

 

“You know...” said Annatar, suddenly very quiet, very low. It was enough to make Celebrimbor's mouth dry and his ears flush. “We could bring the little one to bed and, perhaps fire up the forge. Would that not be lovely, my dear? In this heat, I doubt there would be anyone left to disturb us.”

 

“Is that such a good idea? What if Erthornil will search us during the storm? If we are not here...?”  
  
Annatar hummed and pressed a finger onto Celebrimbor's lips to silence him, “We will hurry. Only a little piece. We do not even need to decorate it,” he teased and winked.

 

“Perhaps, if we keep it to the basics...” Celebrimbor said and scooped the surprised child up.

 

* * *

 

 

It was deep into the night when it happened. The armour they had made, a plain, unadorned set, merely to have a little fun, had been propped unto an armour stand and had already been forgotten. It had been about the joy of making it, the glow of the metal, the song of steel on steel. It had been creating for creations sake and both where satisfied. Though what had followed after, when both had been heated and had just stirred their blood with something they both enjoyed, had not hurt either.

 

Celebrimbor was utterly asleep, satisfied in body and mind. And so he did not see the beginning of Aulë's arrival which truly was a shame.

 

The sky, laden with bulbous clouds, turned to fire. It took only a few moments that the cloud blanket was ripped apart by a maelstrom of heat and blazing light. It happened so fast, the night was erased, the stars, obscured for most of the night, showed for the blink of an eye. But they where dimmed and vanished, overpowered by such fiery orange that it appeared to be late evening once more.

 

Celebrimbor awoke when the light shone through his closed eyelids and made stars dance in front of his eyes.

  
“Figures that would make a spectacle...” Annatar muttered, rubbing his face as he peeled himself out of the blankets. “And at the most ill-timed moment too...”  
  
The fact that Annatar remained unimpressed did wonders on Celebrimbor's mind, for he did not feel anything but confused annoyance at being woken. Unfortunately the guards posted outside did not have the same benefit of an unaffected Maia setting them at ease and so the first thing they did upon seeing the night suddenly turn to day was to kick the door in.

 

Celebrimbor, who had been awake by the barest sense of the word, found himself now fully astir, roused and able to stuff the surprised shriek that had threatened to escape back down once the guards poured into the room.

 

For a while there was mostly Annatar trying to get the guards back under control whilst they tried to get the royal couple to safety. It ended with them thrown out into the hallway, Celebrimbor utterly flustered at being seen in his sleeping garments of all things and Annatar calming their crying son who had experienced an equally rough awakening.

 

With the still blubbering child in his arm, Annatar returned and looked stormy and less than enthused. With all three of them gathered, Annatar hissed with cheerfulness so sweet it could not have been anything but false,“ _Very_ . Well!” he called and Celebrimbor though he could see his left ear twitch, “Shall we _greet_ him, my dear?!”

 

Celebrimbor, aghast, pulled the blanket higher, “Let me change first!” he cried.

 

It was such, in the middle of a night turned day, that both Celebrimbor and Erthornil met Aulë the Smith for the first time.

 


	5. Aulë

Of course the sudden disturbance of peace had not gone past most of the elves in the city, also likely beyond, and so damage control came first. Explanations needed to be offered, messengers send out to calm the upset populous and guards needed to be deterred from trying to herd them away from danger. Loyal, though entirely unnecessary, considering that anything that could truly threaten Annatar would make very short work out of most elves.

 

If one could believe the commotion, Aulë had landed in the wide courtyard, perhaps for the room he needed to land. The smell of smoke and the glow of fire greeted both Annatar and Celebrimbor before they had even rounded the corner of the passage.

 

There was a flash of light and heat great enough to warp the stained glass windows decorating the first floor. Celebrimbor watched the picture of an elven soldier melt, sag and finally drip to the ground where it sizzled and cooled. The other windows did not fare much better.

 

“I will take care of it,” Annatar said when the roiling inferno calmed once more and handed Erthornil to Celebrimbor who looked rather shell-shocked. The child too, was weepy-eyed and snivelling from being woken so suddenly. The fire had left him largely unimpressed as the child was busy being grumpy.

 

In the courtyard Aulë, now turned from intangible energy to solid form, busied himself by casually stomping out a spot on the ground which had caught fire. That left all the other patches that where still merrily burning away. He turned, moving as graceful as any elf, nevermind the gargantuan size.

 

“Oh, the gardeners are going to lose their minds...” Celebrimbor sighed when he saw most of the decorative greenery in various states of incineration while Annatar made his way through the glowing embers. He nuzzled Erthornil who was still weepy eyed and snivelling from all the sudden excitement and wiped his face clean. “I suppose that is what I get for marrying into this, right Erthornil?”  
  
“Bwu...” Erthornil admonished and rubbed his eyes with tiny fists. There was a mighty yawn and Celebrimbor pulled him closer to have Erthornil rest against his shoulder.

 

For the child, at least the excitement concluded thusly.

 

* * *

 

Aulë smiled wide and carefree when Annatar reached him, though that would have hardly been apparent for anyone who had never met him. The brightness around Aulë had dimmed from something akin to staring at the sun to endurable amounts. But at the very least he had taken a less fiery form. Still, tiny wisps of light, like mots of flame from a fire, danced around him from time to time.

 

Aulë had taken a hroa, monstrously large and build like a mobile bulwark. As it was, Annatar reached his master slightly over the waist. Considering this, it was still far smaller, far slighter than Annatar could remember seeing his master. He supposed he had likely crafted it not too long ago, for Aulë moved awkwardly and stiff, not yet gotten used to all the little intricacies he had placed upon it. Yet his bearhug was just as crushing as Annatar remembered it, once the Vala caught him between arms as big as tree trunks and he could feel Celebrimbor tense nervously behind him at the sight.

 

“Annatar, how good to see you again,” Aulë laughed and the sound was loud enough to echo like a rockslide. As was the clap he gave Annatar on the back that would have been enough to shatter a normal elf's spine. Annatar took it gracefully and smiled a placid smile.

 

All around them, the courtyard rained ash and Annatar groaned at the thought at all the accidental destruction. It most likely had been one of the many memories Annatar had suppressed. “Master,” he said and bowed sharply, “A joy to see you. Please, let me introduce you to my family.”

 

* * *

 

 

With the child back in bed, they gathered in the study. Tea was poured and Celebrimbor changed into something that did not smell of smoke. A chair was dragged in for Aulë who looked at the, in his opinion, flimsy thing and then carefully lowered himself, taking care to not shatter the oak. The quiet groaning and creaking of wood was disconcerting, yet the chair held fast. Perhaps he had underestimated the wooden chair.

 

“This,” Annatar said “Is not quite as I would have imagined it to go.”  
  
“Let me just say that I am sorry for setting your yard on fire,” Aulë said and lifted his cup. It looked more like a thimble than a cup when held delicately between two of his fingers.

 

“That—It's... _uh_ , no that's quite alright.” said Celebrimbor sounding less sure than he would have liked. He could hardly help himself now, could he? In the presence of such wondrous beings as Aulë and Annatar. Well, perhaps it was not quite how he had imagined meeting one of the Valar would play out, but Annatar had long ago shattered his perceptions on how a god, or one of his disciples, would act. Still, he was reeling from the dissonance... And the fact that Annatar gave no pretence of acting anything close to deferential.

 

“The stained glass windows, however...” Annatar noted and Celebrimbor cleared his throat sharply.

 

“I had not thought it would all just melt so easily. It...has been some time since I ventured out of my smith, I do admit. There things where a little more sturdy at least,” Aulë said and smiled awkwardly wide. His ears remained rigid, had done so since he had arrived and Celebrimbor found it terribly hard to read him.  
  
“Which reminds me, master,” Annatar said and Celebrimbor felt just as lost now, for Annatar as well had stopped emoting, “May I ask _why_ you are here?”  
  
”Oh? I thought you where told I would come. Did I not send someone?” Aulë asked then turned thoughtful, “Wait, did I?” Then he turned, “Well, in any case; Why would I not wish to meet your family?”  
  
“Well, you did not come to the wedding.” Annatar said and felt Celebrimbor nudge him under the table. He turned and saw Tyelpe gesticulating hastily, desperately. Annatar sighed and conceded. “As I am sure you where busy. I understand.”  
  
Aulë laughed, and raised his hands in defeat, “I have no good excuse, I admit. For this I may only ask for your forgiveness, Annatar.”

 

It was then that the chair gave out, both back legs snapping in half. Aulë fell unto the floor, yet his legs where still slung over the now upturned seat. Stunned and utterly mortified, Celebrimbor watched him, ears pressed back.

 

“I think,” said Aulë from where he was spilled onto the floor, hair fawned out like a spilled sunset and hands pressed to his chest, “I will make a proper chair...”

 

With Aulë's mind now fully occupied with other things, the meeting concluded for the night. Something Celebrimbor was not minding all that much, for his head hurt and the tea had only drawn out the inevitable.

 


	6. Tower

The chair Aulë had made stood in the dining room the next morning. It was massive, with enough space for both Annatar and Celebrimbor to sit side by side, should they desire it.

 

As it was, Aulë already occupied it when the three of them found their way into the dining room.

 

Erthornil, now in a far better mood, made content warbling noises and ate his carrot sticks while he studied their guest. He stared, unabashed and wide eyed, in the manner of all small children.

 

Aulë looked back, smiling. “So,” he finally said after Erthornil found greater interest in his father's porridge and demanded spoonfuls by opening his mouth whenever Celebrimbor lifted his spoon. Guilt-tripping won out and Celebrimbor sipped coffee as he fed the child. “A new peredhel under the House of Aulë.”  
  
“About time!” Aulë laughed, boomed, really. Loud enough to make the crystals of the chandelier clink quietly. “It has been ages, I already thought I was doing something wrong.” He said, “What am I glad for having you send here Annatar. I had my doubts at first, but perhaps you where always meant for it.”  
  
“I shall take it as a compliment,” Annatar replied and smirked.

 

“But of course,” Aulë said, “No other of my students practised their first meeting with the Eldar like you, after all.”

 

Celebrimbor laughed at that. The spoon in his hand shook and Erthornil squalled, banging his hands against his high chair when the porridge was waved in front of his nose yet out of his reach.

 

“Oh, really?” Celebrimbor asked and ignored the smouldering glare that Annatar gave him, he could feel the deathly intent behind it.

 

“Master, don't you dare!” Annatar shrieked, when Aulë nodded fondly at the memory.

 

“But of course, he spent years in front of the mirror. Thought I would not notice. After that I thought it best to send him off to sate his curiosity.”

 

“ _Master_!” Annatar yelped, the tips of his ears flushed red in utter, utter shame.  
  
“Why, _Annatar_ ,” said Celebrimbor, smirking, “You never told me about that. Anything else I need to know?”

 

Annatar, out of his element, flailing in proverbial waves with nothing to snap back, screeched. A puff of smoke errupted from where he stood- Something made from glass splintered at the sound. Erthornil remained unimpressed and finished Celebrimbor's porridge.

 

When the air cleared, Annatar was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

With Annatar off sulking, Celebrimbor made off to court alone. Perhaps that was his punishment, he thought and allowed Aulë to whisk Erthornil away. There was nothing he could do about either of this. Annatar sulking was as normal as the sun rising. Far less welcome than the sunrise but nothing new.

 

And telling a Vala no seemed a great way to invite disaster. Teliadis had come to the same conclusion it seemed, for she had taken one long look at the Ainu and had promptly fled while searching desperately for excuses. He could not blame her.

 

Passing one of the windows, the tower Annatar usually used to get privacy came into view, the pointy spire gleaming in the sun.

 

Poor Annatar, betrayed by the one who knew him best. Well, if that was Aulë or Celebrimbor was hard to tell. Perhaps by both.

 

Smoke rose in a long, thin string from one of the windows and lost itself to the winds. Annatar fumed, brooded about and most likely wished for someone to come and declare their foolishness. Before that, it was very unlikely that he would come back on his own. Maiar had, unfortunately, far greater patience than even elves.

 

He should really make it up to his Maia; Laughing had been in poor taste. There would be the need for great deeds of passion. Genuflecting, for starters. Also jewels. A new necklace perhaps. Something flashy. He should also don his shiniest armour. It would hopefully come off sooner or later during the apology, but Annatar had a weakness for elves parading around.

 

It was one of the reasons why Annatar enjoyed inspecting the barracks so much. Not that Celebrimbor could blame him for it, he certainly saw the appeal.

 

He was so lost in his own head that he did not notice his chamberlain next to him. Only halfway through the one-sided conversation did Celebrimbor even realise that he had nodded along without taking _anything_ in. Tangadon had a very distinct voice. Not so much high, but wavering from something that could be considered a normal speaking voice to sudden jumps that sounded like agitated tremolos. Celebrimbor had grown particularly good at toning it out. Perhaps too good.

 

“And I do not know if we should even let them in the city, certainly there would be enough room...Vertically at least...Maybe _horizontal_ not so much, but I heard they are terribly _untidy_ in large numbers and not to mention the _kitchens_ would never survive such strain unscathed. The wine cellars even _less_.”

Celebrimbor cleared his throat and felt his cheeks brighten and warm, when he was stared at intently. “I'm sorry. What are we talking about?”  
  
The chamberlain snapped his jaw shut. Then, he exhaled, the breathe coming out waveringand far too quick. Even that had the same restless, trembling energy to it. “The-- majesty, you have not _noticed_?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You have not seen _them_?” Tangadon asked and pointed out the window. Celebrimbor followed to where he pointed. Then he wondered how he could have missed the countless colourful tends. He could see figures moving about, stocky and stout, in furs and thick fabrics all in subdued browns, greens, a bit of washed-out blue and sometimes a splash of gold. Dwarves. Hundreds of them, it seemed.

 

How he could have missed them the entire time...“How long have they been here? Tangadon, why was I not notified?” Celebrimbor asked as he watched them.  
  
Tangadon shrank back, tugging at the collar of his robe, “Well...No one wished to _interrupt_ you this morning...With your _esteemed_ guest in your presence...And then the _screaming_ started and we where all deciding if the world was ending and we had all important things to do. Mostly trying to secure _escape routes_... Majesty, I am _sorry_ —I apologize for my rambling but I do feel so terribly _flustered_...”

 

Celebrimbor groaned, and waved Tangadon off, “Fine, it's fine, Tangadon. I will see to it during court. Just...go have a cordial,” he sighed, “Or two, you sound like you need it.” More than usual, Celebrimbor thought but decided against speaking aloud. “After that have someone send the captain and we will see it resolved.” A thought came to him while he watched Tangadon nervously pace around. “They are here for Aulë, I take it?”  
  
“Most likely. I hope so, at least,” said the chamberlain. “Otherwise the coincidence should give me heartburn, on top of everything else.”

 

“And we wouldn't want _that_ , now would we?” Celebrimbor said and made for the throne room. What wonderful timing Annatar had chosen to feel mopey. “See if Lord Aulë feels up for a tour outside the walls later.”  
  
The speed with which the steps behind him vanished told him that Tangadon would look deep into the tiny cordial cups to find the courage necessary to approach the Vala. If Celebrimbor thought back on how he himself had felt, he could not blame his chamberlain.

 

In the distance, the tower taunted him with its plume of smoke.

 


	7. Figurine

In the highest tower of all the land, between silken pillows and satin curtains, sat Annatar, the most piteous Maia in the whole kingdom. Betrayed by those he loved, _forced_ to live out his immortal existence in seclusion while his traitor of a husband far bellow no doubt delighted himself on Annatar's pli-- A knock on the door tore Annatar out of his carefully crafted dissatisfaction.

 

“Who _dares_ to interrupt me in this time of _wallowing_?!” Annatar called when the door to his tower was pushed open. And without his _permission_! Could one not feel sorry for themself in the comfort of their own well-furnished tower? Apparently not and Annatar contemplated getting up. But he had arranged his robes so perfectly. Black fabric, like a mourner's shrouds, billowed for dozens of feet, pooling on the ground in pitch-black perfection. What a sight he had to make. And rightly so, he had spent hours making it just right.

 

He had hoped Celebrimbor would find him like this and feel properly sorry for embarrassing him in the dining room this morning. But the interloper could not be Celebrimbor for there where _rules_ one had to follow when it came to appeasing Annatar. For one, there had not even been a knock.

 

“Abla?” came the reply and already Annatar could not keep his furious demeanour upright. Erthornil came toddling in, making a beeline for his father before he became tangled in the black robes. Erthornil made his surprise known with a truly befuddled sounding “Huh?” as he was lost in the ocean of fabric. Some of the seemingly endless trains of cloth fell on top of him and he was lost from sight.

 

“Dear one, _no_ , not in there, I shall never find you again!” Annatar called out and dashed for the spot his son had just vanished into. Digging him out, he held his son close and kissed the confused boy. “Very well,” Annatar and peeled himself out of the shrouds. “You have convinced me, we will make your father see the error of his ways later. When you are in bed.”

 

“Wuur?”  
  
“Oh...” Annatar swooned and leaned back, all anger forgotten, “How could I ever be mad at you? My darling little dear?”

 

Another stepped through the now open doors and Annatar snorted at his visitor, “ _You_ , however, I have not made up my mind about.”

 

“Oh come now,” Aulë smiled and closed the door behind himself. “My pouty student, surely you will offer your teacher quarter?”

 

“Feh,” Annatar scoffed and turned back to the window in a huff. His arms where crossed over Erthornil and he closed his eyes until Aulë ruffled his hair and made him shriek. Erthornil giggled at the high sound and wiggled until Annatar released his hold.

 

Aulë, who could not read a room if his unending existence had depended on it, took it as invitation and sat down onto the tiled marble floor. “How restrained,” he commented at the interior.

 

“Yes, well,” Annatar said and combed his hair back into some semblance of the painstakingly perfection he had laid his curls before. “I rarely spent my time here, so there is no need to make it home.”

 

Aulë laughed at that. Then, when Erthornil became bored of poking and pulling the fabric still lying all over the floor, he toddled over to the Ainu and tried to climb him. “I am so very glad I remembered to give myself a shorter beard,” Aulë said and stroked the red hair decorating his face. “He seems to harbour similar fascinations for my beard like you did and _you_ used to rip it out in handfuls if I was not careful.”

 

“Oh, not another one of these stories, are you purposefully trying to embarrass me?” Annatar snorted and then quickly added 'Master' to his sentence.

 

Puzzled, Aulë tilted his head to the side, “Embarrass you? Why, I am simply reminiscing. I am old, let me be a little wistful.” Aulë said and plucked the child from his back. “Come, young one, let us make something pretty.”  
  
“He is too young for the forge,” Annatar called from his spot, “It is too loud and busy.”  
  
“Then we will do it the old-fashioned way,” came the reply and Aulë procured a iron ingot from somewhere. It did not even take him concentration, he simply held it in both hands and it glowed white before he tore it into three pieces.

 

“Not on the couch, you will set it ablaze!” Annatar called and hastily caught the blob thrown his way. “ _Honestly_ , master!” Annatar called though it was drowned out in Aulë's booming laughter.

 

With the child, who lacked the necessary motor skills to catch anything thrown at him, he was much gentler and held it out. For a moment, Annatar felt his neck prickle at the thought that the child would somehow not be resistant to heat. But when Erthornil grabbed it like clay and made impressed little sounds, he lowered himself into his pillows again.… What to make? Annatar thought. With just his hands he could hardly make anything so precise as he usually did. He halfed his material and made to form two identical stars with four points

 

“He reminds me of the time I began to create,” Aulë said while he watched Erthornil press the clump of metal into different shapes. “Aye, though I might have been a little bigger. And older.”  
  
“Ba!” Erthornil offered as answer and worked on his glowing handful of gooey metal.

 

Annatar watched him work so utterly focused. How the tiny brow furrowed, cooing to himself quietly as if in deep thought. “I have a hard time picturing you doing anything so...simple.” Though that was not entirely true. Dimly, very dimly, Annatar thought he recalled a time where Aulë had sat down with him like this and they had formed dimpled blobs. Or at least Annatar had. Aulë's had more finesse to them.

 

The Maia pressed the two stars on top of one another and made a, for his standards crude, eight-pointed star.

 

“Such is the purest form of creation, Annatar. It was how all of it began,” Aulë said, pinched the metal together and created two ears. He laughed at Annatar's groan. “Do you think I just started with an anvil and hammer? No, no, it took time for me to figure it out. Fortunately, time was something I had in endless supply. And so, when my students found their calling with me, I had paved the way for them.”

 

“I know, Master...” Annatar said and pressed a fine rim into the edges of each point.

 

It now looked like a slightly lumpier clump, a clumpy lump. Too cold to continue working it, Erthornil held his creation up and made chirping noises, waving it around until Aulë took notice. “Now now, not so fast, wee one. You cannot rush an old Ainu like that.”

 

They both traded their works, Aulë had made a simple dog, with short ears, stumpy legs and a little tail, perfect for tiny hands to grasp and hold, with no sharp edge to hurt. Erthornil had made an impressive potato. Some lumps, a few dimples and one side a little flattened from where it had sat on the ground and been mushed.

 

“Very good,” Aulë praised when he inspected it. “Yes, he is your blood, I can already see it.”

 

“And how would you know that?” Annatar asked, reheating his piece one last time to clean up the very last of the details.

 

Aulë meanwhile, stuck his hand somewhere between the folds of his clothing and procured another piece of metal, this one almost the size of an orange. It had been put through similar treatment as Erthornil's.

 

“Ah, perhaps that explains why you are so heavy, master.” Annatar smirked. “If you carry so much metal with you.”

 

“Do not sass me, boy.” Aulë admonished playfully and rummaged around in the space that sat between the spaces as casually as one might have reached into their pockets. Then, he pulled something out. It was another clump of metal. Presenting it to Annatar, he smiled, “There we are. Remember this, Annatar?”

 

“It is _yours_ , Annatar. The first one.”  
  
Annatar had nothing witty to say, the nostalgic sting in his chest made it so very hard to feel confident. “Why do you keep it? That ugly thing? Surely you have a few of my better works by now?”  
  
“Not just yours,” Aulë continued and presented another handful of pieces. Some had been made from iron, some from brass or gold. The ones from the Eldar pupils where different and easy to spot. Hammerblows, though without much experience nor skill had flattened them. It made sense, elves could not simply touch hot metal like Maiar could, after all.

 

Still, for Aulë to keep them all... There had to be thousands. Aulë grinned and let them vanish into his being again, swirling inside the endless, yet self-contained vortex that was Aulë. “I keep all of them, of course.”

 

“Why?”  
  
“Whyever not, Annatar?” the Vala asked in genuine confusion. Then he laughed, “We all do. Manwë keeps the first feathers, Orome the first tooth they lose in the hunt...” He grinned, “How better to remember the time when our Maiar where adorable and did not roll their eyes at us?”

 

Aulë smiled when Erthornil cooed at the dog, wide eyed and very impressed. “One day very soon,” the Vala said, “ Erthornil will be grown and leave the warmth of your hearth. And when the time comes, you and Celebrimbor will wonder where the days have gone. So it was when you left.”

 

Annatar had no witty reply to that, not for the first time today. Instead he looked to the two others in the room. His head tilted and he looked at the eight-pointed star. Then he sighed, “Perhaps I should go search for Tyelpe. He should have noticed the dwarves by now.”

 

Aulë said nothing but smiled proudly.

 


	8. Envoy

There where three of them who had made their way through the city and now sat at the council table. Up until the leader of their group spoke, Celebrimbor had though them all males. But the dwarf that now spoke sounded, while gravelly and heavy, distinctly female. When they had entered, they clumped together closely. Celebrimbor watched them brushed against one another before they seated themselves. Other than that, this nearly invisible show of affection, Celebrimbor could not truly read them.

 

“Fraid's the name.” said the dwarf, without much flourish nor added titles. She wore a blue cloak and golden bands in her hair. All of her hair. The mane tamed into braids as well as her beard which had been braided and decorated.

 

“Welcome, Lady Fraid,” said Celebrimbor and pressed his fingers just above his heart in greeting. He did not even try to discern what emotions lay behind the

 

“Not a lady, majesty. Just a merchant from the Blue Mountains,” she said, honest and pragmatically.

 

“Ah,” Celebrimbor said and had nothing else to offer. He was not one for witty comebacks, that was why he usually had Annatar sitting next to him to deliver clever jabs. He made to sigh quietly and look once more to the empty chair when the door was pushed open.   
  


“My dear, you have started without me!” Annatar called from where he strode into the room. “Who will make you look clever if I am not here?” Aulë followed behind, though he was busy trying not to step onto Erthornil who weaved and pranced around his legs.  
  
“Not me, surely...” Celebrimbor said, perhaps a tad too doubtful at his husbands sudden -voluntary- arrival, for Annatar raised a suspicious eyebrow. It was different from the amused eyebrow; He used the left one for that.

 

“In any case,” Annatar said, turned around and smiled, “We have guests. How quaint.” Annatar laughed. “A pleasure to meet. Fraid was it? I do apologise, it seems someone forgot to tell me we where to meet.”

 

Fraid smiled awkwardly, perhaps self-conscious. Celebrimbor could not blame her. He had reacted not much different when Annatar had made his grand introduction all these years back. “I-Yes, we have heard much about you.”  
  
“Only good things, I hope,” Annatar said and sat down smoothly in the chair next to Celebrimbor

 

“Err...” Fraid murmured and trailed off. Her companions found sudden interest in the wall murals. The nervous sweating was largely hidden by facial hair. None of the three where stupid and so they knew that perhaps telling the Maia to his face that he was widely known as the Lord of Whine was perhaps not the wisest life choice.  
  
“Nevermind then, let us keep it at that,” Annatar said, waving the awkward silence off. Many relieved sighs around the table, not practised and yet perfectly timed, where harder to ignore and Annatar huffed.

 

Celebrimbor smirked, delighted in his good fortune of Annatar being in a good mood and squeezed the Maia's hand underneath the table. Annatar returned the gesture and smiled pleasantly.

 

“In any case,” Celebrimbor said, “I believe there is a reason why we now find ourselves here.”  
  
Fraid's gaze wandered to the tall Ainu in the room before wavering and averting her eyes when he turned away from where he tickled Erthornil.

 

“Ah yes,” Celebrimbor said and pointedly ignored the relived sigh from Tanagdon's side of the table. Perhaps his squirrelly chamberlain would be spared of heartburn today. Oh well, he would find another reason to stress himself. Tepid bathwater, for example.

 

Aulë meanwhile busied himself by trying to pluck Erthornil out of his fiery hair. The child, endlessly amused, crawled around and shrieked, though muffled, when fingers brushed past him.

 

“Ai, he is he quite a bit louder, so close to my ear,” Aulë noted and felt tiny kicks from where the child buried himself back into the wealth of faintly glimmering hair like a little mole.  
  
Annatar nodded, “I would also advise to not stick your fingers anywhere near biting distance when he gets this excited.”

 

“Leave him, there is nothing you can do, I suppose,” Celebrimbor said when he saw his visitors staring wide eyed at the Vala. “So, you heard of Lord Aulë's visit. Hard not to, I would wager.”  
  
“Was very hard to miss, least for the travellers. Some kin didn't see it, on account of being underground and all.” She furrowed her brow in deep thought and the crease made her bushy eyebrows rise, “But when the sky caught fire, we knew it was important. Things like that usually are.”  
  
“Yes, I suppose they are,” Celebrimbor admitted.

 

Fraid nodded and there was a faint clicking sound. When she opened her mouth and licked absent-mindedly over her lips, the metallic glint of a piercing was visible before she turned her head slightly. “So when we got word from the messenger going around, we figured we should probably get going.”  
  
For the first time Fraid turned to address Aulë directly and the wavering tremolo was enough for the enormous Valar to regard her with his full and undivided attention. Erthornil took this as his chance to catch a nap uninterrupted by fingers that needed a good chomping.

 

Fraid, overwhelmed by something, cleared her throat and continued just as choked. “It is—I never thought we would ever meet, Master Mahal. I sometimes imagined how it would go, but I never...” she trailed off, sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck.  
  
“I am here now,” said Aulë and smiled an easy, mild smile.

 

Celebrimbor cleared his throat, unsure of exactly what was supposed to happen but determined to get the matter on hand resolved.

 

“Ah yes, of course,” Aulë said, “There is the matter of all the others who wish to see me, I assume.”

 

Fraid nodded, turned her head to see what her companions thought and looked even more enthusiastic when she turned back around. “We can't wait.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the part of the journey where they where still in the city, the guards remained at the front. Then came Annatar and Celebrimbor who flanked Aulë and a still napping Erthornil. The child had managed to tangle himself in the Valar's mass of a burning mane. Fraid and her companions at the back, where busy rubbernecking the masonry.

 

It gave Celebrimbor plenty time to wonder. Aulë was in the best of moods, relaxed and whistling a merry tune, though when he saw Celebrimbor's pensive look, he stopped.

 

“Something the matter, your Highness?”

 

Celebrimbor flushed at having been caught at impolite staring, whipped his head back around. On a second thought, he lowered his head and drooped his ears in shame. “Nothing.”

 

“Well,” said Aulë when they reached the outer edge of the city, he beheld the crowd in front of them, and in turn the crowd watched them.“This has become quite the family gathering, I have to say.” Aulë laughed as the guards now spread out behind them in a half-circle.

 

Annatar hummed, “Shall we wait for you to greet them?”  
  
Aulë furroed his eyebrows in confusion, “What do you mean? I said this is a family gathering; Annatar, come greet your cousins. Celebrimbor, I do not know what to call you yet, but family will suffice,” Aulë said and looped long arms around their shoulders to drag them along. Right into the heart of the commotion.

 

* * *

 

 

They lost Annatar almost the moment the introductions had concluded. Dwarves, by their wont, had already set up their booths and the glittering gold had drawn Annatar to it like a moth to flame. “Cultural cross-comparison,” Annatar had offered in the way of a justification to run of with the money he had brought. Celebrimbor let him and instead stuck with Aulë who listened attentive to a pair of brothers who told him of a new kind or refinement.

 

Suddenly, Aulë straightened upright and tilted his head, “ _Oi_!” he said and thrust his hands into his hair, digging around, “Who is kicking my noggin?!”

 

Erthornil burst into laughter at Aulë's exaggerated fluster and flailed around when the Vala plucked him from between his tresses. There was a mighty yawn but he was back to waving hands and kicking feet until he was handed back to Celebrimbor. “Very well, this one seems quite done with me,” Aulë said.

 

Erthornil, indeed quite done with his nap and Aulë's antics, squalled loudly until Celebrimbor sat him down so he could waddle off. The dwarves, perhaps half Celebrimbor's height, where still taller than the tiny prince and so Celebrimbor took his son's hand, feeling even tinier fingers grasp two of his own, and made to brave the many unfamiliar faces.

 

They left Aulë to be swarmed by more brave onlookers that now wished to speak with him.

 

* * *

 

 

An infant dwarf was, as Celebrimbor learned, a hairy little thing indeed. Perfectly adorable, there was no doubt; The same wide eyes that saw much and understood nothing just yet. Just much more hair, enough to cover cheeks and chin in an impressive layer of fluff. Otherwise, the baby was quite bald. Perhaps there was only so much hair to go around at once, Celebrimbor mused as they watched the tiny dwarf. Erthornil babbled and the baby answered much the same.

 

Celebrimbor wondered what they where talking about.

 

“Do you suppose,” The mother who stood close by and tended a pot with stew, asked Celebrimbor while Erthornil toddled around to take in all the new sights, “That perhaps his Lordship would bless my daughter? For good luck?” she asked and tapped her chin thoughtfully. She had not at all been shy when she had seen Erthornil, Celebrimbor in tow, wander between the tents.  
  
Celebrimbor hummed, thanked his lucky stars that he had not followed his instinct and called the baby a boy, reached over to where Erthornil opened his mouth to eat a dandelion and cupped his hand over the fluffy seeds. He smiled. “I should think so.”

 

The infant had started to suck at her thumb, methodically and wholly consumed by this task as her mother scooped her up. “Watch my stew, would you?” she asked and was gone before Celebrimbor could answer.

 

He watched her move through the tents and turned his head, inhaled and blew the dandelion seeds away before Erthornil could succeed in his second attempt at eating them.

 

Erthornil was torn between angrily screeching at the rudeness of his father blowing away what would have been a perfectly fine snack and cooing in wonderment at the soft fuzz now floating about. The amazement won out and Erthornil stretched out tiny hands to catch them while Celebrimbor stirred the food.

 

“How domestic, my love,” said Annatar when he came sauntering up to him. Gold and jewels hung from his hair, his wrists and from around his neck and he carried many more pieces over his arm. No doubt, Celebrimbor thought, the treasury had felt a rather nasty blow, gutted as it now was. But who was he to deny Annatar his wont? And it was not as if Annatar generated plenty fortune himself. Not that this explanation would soothe the accountants in any way.

 

“Yes, well, I thought I would try my hand at cooking,” Celebrimbor said and shrugged with the wooden spoon still in his hand.

 

Annatar laughed and bend down when Erthornil came to greet him. He ruffled his son's hair and kissed his forehead when Erthornil presented him with a single, slightly crushed dandelion seed. “A wonderful gift, darling dear,” Annatar praised and picked the half dozen or so seeds that had tangled in Erthornil's hair while he had chased the one he held proudly.

 

He plucked it carefully from the small palm and hid it away in his robes. Then he selected one of the pieces in his possession and carefully pinned it to Erthornil's tunic. One could have argued that a single dandelion seed for a golden brooch was a poor exchange rate, but Annatar hardly minded.

 

Musing, Celebrimbor examined the depiction of a bird. “I would have thought chickadees would not be a dwarven design,” he said and trailed the cut stones that made up the bird's colours. Pretty work, no doubt. Fine white gold made up the body of the bird, safe the blue accents where tiny pieces of sapphire had been set into the frame.  
  
“Oh, you would be surprised,” Annatar said. “Speaking of,” he turned his head, “Where is Aulë?”

 

Celebrimbor allowed himself to try what exactly it was what he was stirring and tasted potato in some kind of thick sauce. He shrugged, “Blessing children, I believe.”  
  
“Ah,” Annatar said and sat next to Celebrimbor. “Yes, I suppose that does sound about right.”

 

Erthornil meanwhile was quite busy admiring the shiny golden bauble. He cooed and crooned, very excited, when the sun caught it just right and it sparkled brightly. “ _Oooh!_ ” he uttered quietly, truly amazed. So of course that meant he could not keep such wonderment to himself; He had to share it right away.

 

Annatar and Celebrimbor watched him trundle around, showing off his new treasure to everyone in reach. Resting his head on Celebrimbor's shoulder, Annatar sighed contently. “I can hardly believed how much he has grown. Oh, Tyelpe, just remember his cute little egg...”  
  
“Yes,” Celebrimbor admitted, “It feels like only yesterday.”

 

Annatar, now in a very good mood, hummed and leaned in closer. Enough to brush his lips over Celebrimbor's ear where the skin trembled easiest when teased by warm air. “It makes me so nostalgic, Tyelpe dear. Having an egg to polish and coo over.”

 

Celebrimbor brought up his hand to tangle them in Annatar's golden locks, “And what of our little prince to _tickle_ and coo over?”

 

Annatar had no chance to reply, “ _Oi_! Not over my stew!” The owner of said stew called out. Both Annatar and Celebrimbor pulled back like courting youths caught kissing under a tree. At least Celebrimbor had the decency to blush. She rolled her eyes, stopped her daughter from eating her own fist and shooed them away.

 

“Many thanks for the help, now git. _Git_ , you naughty bogies, don't think I didn't see you pinch a bit of my stew.” There was no malice in her words and Celebrimbor saw her grin as she turned around to put her daughter back in her basket. She smoothed the curly beard and pressed a kiss to the baby's bald head before she tucked her in. Then, watching the two lanky figures prance off, she sorted to herself.  
  
Annatar laughed and was off, pulling Celebrimbor with him, they caught Erthornil who had been busy showing off to a large goat and scooped the surprised child up. With that, they made their giggly escape.

 

* * *

 

 

Aulë had forgotten what a joy it was to wander amongst his own children. The shame for that would set in presently, he supposed, but for now there was simply no time to feel sorry. Not when there where so many eager faces, wishing to meet him. He held four dwarven infants, his arms where long and broad enough to hold them all. They squirmed about, like little grubs and Aulë had blessed so many already with a little luck for the coming years.

 

Of course there where not just infants. Though shy at first, many of the children had gathered their courage and had approached.

 

It was easy to see which ones where the youngest. Those that had not learned to feel reverence to the one they saw as the _Important One_. The One Who Mattered Above All. Dwarves had not much interest in learning about the rest of the pantheon and instead focused all of their worship, all of their love to him. Flattering, though Aulë was not one to demand such worship from those he loved. And he truly loved his bearded children.

 

Not all worshipped him; Little dwarves saw him and thought mostly about the best way to scale him. For he looked like one of them, but _tall_. Tall and sturdy like a mountain wall. And that meant climbable.

 

One of them had used Aulë's nose as a stepping stone until the mother had nearly gone after her unruly brood herself to pull him off. Aulë did not particularly mind them crawling all over him and instead bore it with delighted grace.

 

He caught a glance of Annatar and Celebrimbor playfully chasing each other between the tents. Erthornil held tightly to Celebrimbor's chest, one of his father's arms looped safely around him as the child made a faint, happy “ _Weeee_ -” sound before they vanished out of sight and earshot once more. He smiled to himself, happy to see his student and his...What was Celebrimbor to him, he wondered? Well, he _hoped_ could leave with the knowledge of having a grandson and hopefully something resembling a son-in-law. That would be quite pleasant.

 

One of the babies burbled and unceremoniously spit over his sleeve. There was incoherent screaming and many, many apologies and Aulë found himself too busy with trying to defuse the situation to ponder over family relations.

 

Quirking his lips into an amused smile, he wondered when he should next visit.

 


	9. Goodbye

The arrival of a god was of course no reason to shirk sales and trade picked up soon after Aulë's arrival. Dwarves, endlessly pragmatic and unmatched when it came to resourcefulness, had brought many pieces of art dedicated to the Night The Sky Caught Fire. Reds and oranges dominated the colours of all manners of paintings and jewellery and one crafty confectioner had made sugary treats laced with red pepper. It came as close to feeling the fires of creation on one's tongue as one ever cared to get.

 

Many elves ventured out in these days, many came back with empty coin purses and newly acquired baubles and rare treats.

 

Aulë enjoyed himself with wandering both amongst elves and dwarves, most of the times with Erthornil riding in his hair, peaking out like a tiny ornament between the Vala's ardent hair.

 

Teliadis spent her free time around the jewellery stands, marvelling at things she would never buy and bought Tangadon some of the peppered confections. Much fun was had all around during these weeks.

 

Of course, all had an end, so did Aulë's visit and Erthornil, faced with saying goodbye to his friend and newly acquired grandfather, was left in tears. The dwarves vanished as swift and efficient as they had appeared as soon as the leaves turned golden. Aulë wished them luck, promised to visit and see their great works of art deep inside the mountains where they dwelled and waved them goodbye.

 

And then it was time to go home.

 

* * *

 

 

Celebrimbor and Annatar where there to see him off, safely away from any greenery and irreplaceable pieces of art, though there was a slight delay. Erthornil would not hear any talk of leaving and resisted wherever he could. It proofed to be quite the battle of wills between Annatar and Erthornil as one tried to hold onto Aulë and the other tried his best to pry him off.

 

Aulë, perhaps sensing the tension between both parties chose to have no part in this tug of war. Instead he allowed himself to be the battlefield and turned to Celebrimbor who shrugged his shoulders.

 

“My darling, you have to let go now,” Annatar said through gritted teeth and loosened another tiny finger. That still left eight more still clamped into the Ainu and Erthornil _would_ _not_ let go without a fight.

 

Instead Erthornil, hanging on for dear life, screamed his disapproval loudly and with a lot of conviction behind it.

 

“It has been fun,” Aulë said, his head turned towards Celebrimbor, and meant it wholeheartedly. “ I think I should visit more often; If you would have me, that is; I am fully aware that I somewhat disrupted normal life as it is.”

 

“Gladly; We shall make a landing place then. Burning the gardens might set a negative precedent for the duration.”

 

“I do apologize for that once more,” Aulë said.

 

Celebrimbor waved him off, “No need. I was searching for a reason to replace the windows.”

 

Indeed, Celebrimbor found the new motives so much more fitting. Mostly because they depicted something other than the usual motives of elven soldiers and great deeds of people he did not know; He doubted anyone else had put a perfect rendition of Erthornil's masterpieces into tinted glass.

 

Annatar, pulling the screeching child off Aulë, uttered a low sound, between a victorious groan and a tired sigh. Then, just as fast, he looked serene and composed once more, only Erthornil who cried and squirmed in his arms was any indication that something was amiss.

 

The time for words was over, there was nothing to do but leave. And leave Aulë did.

 

“Until we meet again,” Aulë said and took off. It was not so much flying as it was the sheer force of his own might blasting him off the ground. Dirt and dust and stones where swept up and thrown around as the heat around him became nearly unbearable. Annatar directed most of the heat and all of the dirt away from his family as they watched the mountain that was Aulë roar away into the sky.

 

“That was certainly something,” Celebrimbor said as he trailed the smoke trail with his gaze until it vanished beyond the horizon.

 

“Oh yes,” agreed Annatar, “He flies like the anvil he is.”

 

“I feel sorry for whatever birds he meets on the way...”

 

“Yes, or Manwë's Maiar,” Annatar said and they made their way home.

  

* * *

 

 

Even the greatest of fires had to burn out sometime and as it so happened, since Erthornil had missed his nap, it was the moment he had been wrestled into his little bed. There was still a token effort of resistance, some attempt at fighting the inevitable.

 

Annatar sighed, pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and sank dramatically into the pillows piled in one of the corners. Celebrimbor kissed the sleeping child and approached his stricken husband to tend to him.

 

“And you wonder why I didn't want him to visit,” Annatar groaned and tipped his head back until his chin nearly pointed towards the ceiling. He sighed and when Celebrimbor plopped himself down at Annatar's side, the Maia cracked one golden eye open to regard Celebrimbor. “First he embarrasses me,” Annatar groused, “And then he steals my son's admiration when clearly it is I who should be the one being admired.”  
  
“What about me?” asked Celebrimbor. “Am I not worthy of being admired?”  
  
“Oh, I'm sure you have your qualities as well,” Annatar grinned slyly and caught a faceful of pillow. When it came away, the grin had been replaced by a terrible glower, “ _Tyelpe!_ ” How hard it was to convey his indignation when he could only whisper.

 

Celebrimbor smiled perfectly innocent, as if he had not just clobbered Annatar with a throw-pillow. Annatar tackled him and they rolled from the mountain onto the carpet, rassling playfully like children until Annatar came up on top.

 

Celebrimbor, still smiling even as his hair lay disheveled and a few locks draped over his eye, bend upwards and kissed Annatar.

 

“Oh, very well...” Annatar decided and released his hold on Celebrimbor's wrists, “Perhaps you are just as wonderful as I am.”  
  
“I will take what I can get,” said Celebrimbor and together they rested once more on the mighty pillow mountain. From the tiny bed in the middle of the room came a tiny gurgle.

 

“One day we shall be the embarrassing ones...” Celebrimbor sighed blissfully and buried his head in Annatar's neck, his nose tickled by golden locks that spilled over Annatar's shoulders. Fingers traced his back, teased the ridges of his spine.

 

Annatar giggled eagerly, squirmed around and squealed quietly in excitement, “I cannot wait.”

 

Gurgling and fully unaware of his fathers scheming over him, Erthornil kicked a tiny foot and murmured in his sleep.

 

And for now, that was enough.

 


	10. Epilogue

Behind the great forges Aulë called his domain, behind the mighty smiths and the roaring furnaces that needed whole trees worth of wood, there stood a barren field.

 

Well, barren safe for the numerous craters punched into the dried, sandy earth. And when Aulë landed, another hole was added to the myriads already existing. The impact was incredible, shaking the very earth and sending a flock of starlings into panicked, protesting flight. By now, his students had surely noticed him.

 

As the cloud of sand, dust and ash calmed, Aulë stretched and breathed the air. It rather lacked the distinctive scent of molten slack and coal...

 

It would not have done the Maiar of Aulë justice to call them lazy. They where creatures of extremes; They worked hard and in turn they played hard.

 

Admittedly, there had been a lot more playing than working these last few days. And with the Eldar pupils just as prone to laze around the warm grass when there was no tall Ainu prowling the smiths to breathe down their necks... Well, that just meant the workload was just as big when Aulë returned as it had been when he had left.

 

Nearly. For there where two of his most faithful who where not swayed by the promise of free time.

 

Mahtan greeted Aulë at the front entrance. Aulë, who had burned the dust coating him to fine, pulverized glass, brushed the glinting specks from his robes. It tinkled quietly as the glass dust rained onto the polished floor. Mahtan stepped over the shards and unfurled the cream-coloured scroll he carried with him.

 

“So you return, master.”

 

“So I return, and what stories I have to tell,” the Ainu said. “I brought you something.” Aulë fished in his robes, where none of the heat could ever reach him, and produced a small linen bag filled with the candy the dwarves had made in his honour. “Do be frugal with those, I hear they are quite... zesty...”

 

Mahtan nodded, “I see, Nerdanel will like them, I'm sure.”

 

“Very good,” Aulë said. “I trust everything was kept in order whilst I was gone?”

 

“Well I mean-- Yes, yes of course,” Mahtan cleared his throat, “Work was a little...slow. And perhaps there where a few complaints about noise...Some— _things_ caught on fire; Nothing we cannot replace..."

 

Aulë smiled benevolently and ignored the cold furnaces and the pile of not yet processed ore. “They will come soon, I believe. I like to think I made quite the entrance."

 

“Indeed.”

 

“Until then, I shall see after the only other who worked through my absence. Has he noticed that I was gone?” Aulë inquired.

 

“Not to my knowledge. He has not even stepped outside."

 

”The Ainu shrugged, “To be fair, I would have worried if he had not.”

 

* * *

 

Bowed over his anvil, judging his own work harsher than Aulë ever would, his most faithful pupil did not acknowledge him until the tall Ainu had crossed the room. “I am back,” Aulë said and clapped Mairon's back in greeting when his pupil did not seem to care for the world around him.

 

Behind them there was the quiet clinking of a hard candy being clicked against teeth though the sound ceased the moment Aulë turned his head to grin at Mahtan.

 

“You where gone?” Mairon asked when he remembered speech. He sounded monotone and somber but that was normal and Aulë laughed when Mairon swivelled his ears.

 

“Why, yes; To visit your brother and your nephew.”

 

“Hm...” murmured Mairon and turned back to his work. Mahtan, still standing in the wide frame of the door, scratched his beard as he went over his notes.

 

“Very well then,” Aulë said and turned to Mahtan who shifted the candy back behind his teeth, “Shall we round the others up? I do believe I hear footsteps approaching.”

 

“Yes master,” Mahtan said.

 

Mairon had already stopped listening to them and focused on the piece of metal he had been shaping.

 

For a while there was only the even, steady sound of Mairon hammering away.

 

“...Annatar is gone?” Mairon asked the empty air. His hammer stilled momentarily and one of his ears twitched at the sudden silence. Come to think of it; He _had_ been doing a lot of uninterrupted work lately.

 

He shrugged and made to return to his work once again, raising his hammer to bring it down with long practised and perfected swiftness. At its very apex, Mairon halted once more, “--I have a nephew?”

 

In the end he decided this to be a matter for another time.

 

The hammering resumed uninterrupted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will continue in The Many Times Interrupted Work Of Mairon.


End file.
